


Where you can see me

by David_Kesil (DaveJean)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Because Nathan, Established Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Nathan has questions, Sexy Fluff, Some Fluff, Talk about feelings, Trans Character, no smut but the talk is in the middle of the do, trans!pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveJean/pseuds/David_Kesil
Summary: This is a truth that Nathan Explosion, frontman and singer of the greatest metal band in the world, keeps to himself every show night. But there is someone who knows. There is someone who understands.In which Nathan asks himself why Pickles plays the drums when he knows how intoxicating it is to be the frontman, to have all the attention... even if you only want a set of eyes on you.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Where you can see me

What they will never tell you is how little you can actually distinguish once you are in the middle of the stage, where everything is raw and hot and electric and dark, and smoke fills your lungs as you’re trying to catch your breath in time for the next line. This is a truth that no one who has lived it will share it with the laymen —it is meant to be for the few, for those allowed to shine, sweat paid with blood, drugs and money, a pedestal that carves itself on their chests. This is a truth that Nathan Explosion, frontman and singer of the greatest metal band in the world, keeps to himself every show night. But there is someone who knows. There is someone who understands. 

That someone is the one in charge with the electricity the other four feel through their veins, through the cables that cover the floor in all the right ways so none of them trip over them. That someone might not be the metaphorical heart of the band —that privilege belongs to the youngest, the darkest— but he is the valves and the beat and the kick. His red dreads are suspended every other second in a mist of drums, plates and heartbeats. His green eyes are a perfect combination of hunger and dizziness, for the man knows what the other sees, there in front of him, there holding the mic for dear life. Why would anyone leave that place? Why would anyone step behind to a humbler position, choose to be the roots instead of the shiny fruit that gets the appraisal, the attention?

Speaking of truths, this is one Nathan Explosion has yet to discover. He has known the redhead man for years, decades now, and this question grows and swells between his ribs every fucking day. He won’t ask, though. Not yet.

The lasers focus, the lights blink until it becomes an unbearable flash, and the stage fills with smoke. And Nathan does what he does best: sing, and trust that his drummer will keep their hearts in sync. 

*

“Fuck, I ‘eed a beer,” Pickles said as soon as he entered backstage, dragging his feet on the floor, just polished. 

“You always need a beers, Pickle,” Toki smiled, and fell on the coziest sofa, ready for a quick nap. 

“You ams a lazys ass, Toki, yous didn’t haves to play that muchs.”

“Shut up, Skwisgaar.”

“You shuts up.”

“Welsch, that wasch a schitshow.”

“What naw, Murderface? ‘t was a nice show, dood.”

“I didn’t get to play with my-”

“Y’know, shut it, thet’s why ‘t was a nice show.”

“Ugh.”

The origin of the groan was no other than Dethklok’s singer, walking in with a massive bag of chips in hand.

“‘right, Nate’n?”

“Hmpf, yeah, why?”

Nathan’s bandmates looked at each other, in a way that people who are just bandmates usually don’t look between themselves. This was another unspoken truth, one that belonged to the five of them.

“Hello guys, so, uh, good show.” Charles appeared after Nathan and before anyone could say anything else. “The jet is already waiting in the airport, uh, good thing this show was close to Mordhaus, huh.”

“Hmm, yeah.” Nathan said.

Charles took a moment to look at Nathan, then at Pickles, who just stared back at him with a gaze that clearly said  _ Dood, yeh, I don’t know what’s up with the big guy but yeh I’ll find out later _ . 

Before Muderface could start listing why he deserved to do a dick solo in every show they played, Dethklok was in a limousine on their way to the airport.

Even if Nathan Explosion was known for not being such a big talker, the trip was silent that usual, and the drummer went through his alcohol stack in half the time he usually needed to. He knew he had to talk to the big guy, but his head was in all the wrong places and all he wanted was to blackout and get fucked. And for the last one, he needed that very same big guy. 

*

“Nate’n… Dood, Nate’n… Fuckin’ hell, Nate’n!”

Nathan opened his eyes, wide awake and with a warm body on top of him, one that reeked of something familiar, of alcohol, vomit and mint. Then, he remembered to breathe. 

“Fuck, Pickles! What!”

“Dood, ye just went fuckin’ somewhere while I was sittin’ on ye’r face!”

Nathan groaned as Pickles climbed down and sat on the bed between huffs. The big man didn’t know what to say to escape the situation, or if he wanted to. Maybe he just needed to find the words and finally ask. 

“Ok dood, what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yers?” the redhead asked, sitting in front of his partner. He knew Nathan often struggled with talking out loud about feelings —some of the bands’ songs were actually meant to be sort of love songs that ended up sounding more like murderous intentions, but he knew better. Pickles understood Nathan. But sometimes, Nathan needed time to rearrange what he felt and thought, and Pickles would be left in a situation just like they had: naked, still pretty much wet, and calmly waiting for Nathan to find the words. 

“I, eh, uhhhh… There is this thing I keep, uh, asking to myself. About you.”

“‘Right.”

“But I’m ah, afraid you will be… mad? Angry about it? So I, uuuuhhhh, I don’t know if I should, ah, ask.”

“Dood, when has a question from ye angered me?”

“Well. One time I asked about that thing Seth-”

“Nate’n, all questions about my stupid brather will piss me off.”

“Ahh, uhh, right.”

“Jus’ tell me.”

A cough. A pause. Pickles could hear Nathan’s heartbeat so clearly his fingers started tapping on his thighs, mindlessly following the rhythm.

“Don’t you miss it?”

Pickles frowned, lost.

“Miss what?”

“AAARGH,” Nathan groaned, and Pickles moved then to put his hands on the big man’s face, framing it.

“Nate’n stap thinkin’ you look stupid to me right now, I know ya n that brain of yers. Jus’ say it with yer own words. When haven’t I understood ya’?”

Nathan sighed, and leaned a little into Pickles’ touch. He closed his eyes.

“When you’re there on stage, with the heat and the riffs and the sweat… Everyone is looking at you, all those jackoffs have this thing in their eyes and there’s nothing but you and your voice and the rumble in your stomach… that feeling. You know it and you know how brutal it is. I saw you again and again when you were in Snake ‘n’ Barrels, the way you moved on stage, how you shone there, a fucking star and…”

Pickles didn’t fill the pause with his fingers that time. Instead, he understood. 

“And naw I’m behind the drums, far from the light n the sweat n the public n ye dunno why.”

Nathan sighed again, his eyes still closed.

“Look at me, Nate’n.”

He opened them. The drummer was smiling, but that smile didn’t catch his green eyes, not really. 

“I won’t lie, I miss it. Som’times I miss the weight of the guitar on my shoulders, the low cut jeans n the space ye get to dance, to scream, to jump. But thet’s not who I am anym’re n thet’s not who I am in Dethklok.”

“Then why…?”

“Ya’ know that without me ya guys are useless?” Pickles laughed, and the smile finally caught up to his eyes. “Without me Murderface cann’t hold the rhythm, Toki would get lost n Skwisgaar would get angry as fuck n forget the tempo and ye… I see ye all the time from ther’, y’know. Every show. Every minute, every second. I see ye tap your heels on stage, followin’ me. I see ye feelin’ me.” It took only half a heartbeat for Pickles to reach Nathan’s forehead, and place a kiss there. “I know y’must think I lost som’thin’ but I don’t see it that way. Because where I am, up high and behind the band, I can see ‘em —and bett’r than that, I can see ‘em lookin’ at ye, how they look at ye, how they move as ye move. And I get to see every fuckin’ of yer movements while beatin’ the shit out of the drums, knowin’ without me there is no base and no Dethklok.”

The room went quiet as Pickles expected a response from his partner, who suddenly looked serious. Decided.

“I don’t care about them.”

“What?”

“Being on stage is fucking brutal but… I didn’t know you were always looking at me.”

“I gotta keep an eye on everythin’ on stage but… yeah, dood, always.”

Something tightened in Nathan’s throat.

“I don’t care about the jack offs looking at me, not really. I… I want to be where you can see me.”

“Nate’n.”

“What.”

“Dood, that was so fuckin’ gay.”

“You’re gay.”

Pickles laughed and nodded, straddling Nathan’s lap. “Ye lookin’ at me. I’m lookin’ at ya. And now,” he kissed Nathan “I need my frontman to open his legs so I can feck ‘im.”

All the tension Nathan had been hoarding since the question, the doubt had rounded his mind left fast and hard, just as they usually fuck. Words had been spoken, and the two of them had probably said way more than they intended but they trusted each other. They trusted, and so they allowed themselves to be vulnerable, to ask for all the attention the other could give. Pickles was always looking at him, and that’s all Nathan needed. And so, as on stage, Nathan let Pickles take control until all he could think was the way his dreads kept the rhythm of their moans, pushes and pulls, keeping them in sync. 


End file.
